The Red Hackle
by Bolo Unit BRL of the Line
Summary: Naraku is interrupted during an attempt to summon powerful minions to do his bidding, and a column of Victorian-era British soldiers are transported to Feudal Japan as a result. To return to their own time, the soldiers must destroy Naraku. Please R
1. The Best Laid Plans of Hanyou and Men

I do not own Inuyasha, nor do I own any of its associated characters. The regiments mentioned did indeed exist, and some still do, but the characters within are all fictional, and the events contained within never occurred. That, I believe, covers all of the legal issues.

_The Red Hackle_

Prologue:

The midday sun's rays shone clearly over a large unplowed field, where a huddled shape sat muttering in a tongue not known by living man nor beast. A pelt of white fur encased the figure, with a baboon's face and upper jaw to be found where one would expect the head to be located. The jawbone of the baboon was curiously missing, and in its place, what appeared to be the lower half a human face could be seen. Naraku, the master of deception and draftsman of slaughter, the half-demon in whose terrible breast beat the heart of the crippled bandit Onigumo, and whose body and core of being was formed from the unholy union of a horde of demons and a human body and soul, was in the midst of constructing his newest bid to both rid himself of the bothersome hanyou Inuyasha and his companions, and gain the shards of the Shikon Jewel that were in their possession.

"When this ritual is completed," Naraku said to himself, "I will have a legion of powerful soldiers at my command, and then nothing, no one can stand before me!" The preliminary procedures complete, he set to weaving the spell that would summon his terrible combatants with his hallmark precision and attention to detail. If a single mistake was made, there was no sure way to predict what would be summoned onto the very large field. Further and further the ritual progressed, the spell's power waxing and Naraku's success growing more near. As he started the penultimate incantation, a troop of militia horsemen appeared on the top of a neighboring hill. These men and boys were but peasant farmer and the like who were rudimentary trained and armed with spears and short bows, and had been called out to investigate the strange lights and sounds produced by Naraku's spell.

Naraku was merely annoyed by the horsemen, as he had been certain that he had driven off or killed all of the farmers and residents within the outlying area. The militiamen, driven by curiosity, were drawing close, and Naraku knew that they would be on him well before he could complete his ritual. If he stopped casting now, the spell would destabilize and the result could very well be a blast of demonic energy that would consume him, the horsemen, and everything within a five-mile radius. Conversely, if he continued to cast, the militia could, however unlikely, cause him bodily harm. While he held such stopgap soldiers with disdain, he knew all too well that appearances could be deceiving, and there was no telling just what exactly he was facing until they revealed their abilities. His decision was a compromise. He would continue the spell as far as he could, to minimize the chance of a catastrophic destabilization.

The militia galloped towards him, and, when in earshot, the leader hailed the hanyou. "You there! What is your business, and what have you done to the farmers who lived here?" The leader's hail went unanswered by the figure cloaked in fur, and this prompted a distinct rise in the militia captain's ire. "Cut him down! Slay him where he stands, boys!" The horsemen clumsily wheeled into a line and, with spears couched like lances, the line of horses and men rocketed towards Naraku. The half-demon leapt into the air even as the lance points passed through the space he had previously occupied. Naraku could now see the fear in their hearts, the sheer terror that was overridden by sheer bravado and false confidence in their numbers, and he then knew them to be only farmers and laborers. His mouth spreading in a cruel grin, the fiend shot through the line of men and horses, slaying both with a relish and an abandon characteristic of one who takes immense pleasure in the pain and death of others. Even as the still warm bodies collapsed onto the cold, untilled soil, Naraku remembered the spell. He turned, and saw that a humongous area of land, including most of the field and a large part of the neighboring properties, was now blocked from his sight by a wall of swirling, eddying lights and colors.

Good, thought Naraku, the spell is still relatively stable, and his legion might still be what is summoned. Unfortunately, the nature of the spell did not allow him to resume casting, and he could only wait and see what was summoned. The wall gradually faded, and what it gradually revealed indeed appeared to be a large group of figures, some on horseback, some with wagons, but the majority on foot, and standing in ranks. The barrier was now transparent, but still tangible, and it seemed to Naraku that the spell was almost finished. He studied the still forms in the short time before the barrier fell and the figures awakened. They were men. All of that work, all of that toil, and what did he receive? Men! He examined them further, in an attempt to discern what made these men so worthy of fear.

They were over two thousand, five hundred in number, all wearing khaki coats with long sleeves and high domed white cloth-covered helmets that swept down in the back to protect the neck, but no other visible armor. Five hundred seemed to be dedicated horsemen, sitting on their mounts in ranks, while other horses were to be seen towards the back with the wagons that had no riders, but saddles, reins, and bridals. These horsemen had long, curved swords slightly similar to a katana hanging from their belts, and there were what appeared to be a wooden club with a metal shaft embedded in it slung across each man's back. They wore khaki pants that were much slimmer and much less baggy than those worn by the men of Japan. They wore not sandals, but tall black boots.

Those on foot seemed no less strange, wearing not pants of any sort, but skirts of colored wool woven into strange square patterns, and they too wore boots, but these were only shin-high, and covered by white leggings and bright checkered coverings. A fur-lined pouch hung from a chain attached to each man's belt. Half of these footmen had a little red fluffy feather, like a peacock's, stuck into their helmet. The majority of these men each carried a club-like instrument, larger cousins of the ones the horsemen had, and no swords. White belts and straps criss-crossed their chests. A few, less than 250, carried large, straight, and broad-bladed swords with large, hand-encompassing hilts with red velvet lining. He could see two groups of drummers and men carrying what he assumed was an instrument, but was not certain of its purpose. It consisted of a bag with some slim shafts of wood sticking out of it. A number of long, black tubes, each on a pair of wheels and a sheet of metal forming a guard on its front, lay hooked up to horses and a large number of wagons were to be seen in the rear of this mass of men. Three men were standing with their back to him, facing the rest of the humans. Two wore the strange skirts and swords of the footmen, and one wore the strange pants and curved sword of the horsemen.

At that moment, the spell broke, and the men snapped into consciousness. They were startled, and the three men in the front turned to face him almost immediately. They spoke in a language that Naraku could not understand. Undaunted, they called out in what seemed to be a different language, but he still could not discern their meaning. This was repeated, with another different language. When they did not receive a reply, one of the ones in the skirts, this one with one of the red feathers on his helmet, finally called out in rough, unpolished, but understandable Japanese, "Who are you, and where is this place?"

"The name of this place does not matter. I am Naraku, and that does matter. I am your master, the one who summoned you here. You shall obey me, support my endeavors, kill my foes, and whatever else I see fit for you to do. If you prove yourselves worthy, I shall reward you and return you to your home. Fail me, and you shall share the fate of those who lie behind me." The prone and grisly forms of the slaughtered militiamen caught their eyes, and they stared back at Naraku with a kind of grim understanding, and then surprised him by shouting at their forces and running back to the line of men.

The two front rows of soldiers raised their club-like weapons, by what appeared to be the wrong end. Another shout from one of the men, and the air was shattered by a deafening peal of thunder, though not a single cloud was in the sky, the rows of men were immediately concealed by a thick cloud of smoke, and Naraku could feel dozens of projectiles striking him simultaneously. The force of the projectiles striking him was like nothing he had ever experienced before, and he felt each projectile tearing, smashing, and ripping through his body. He did not know just how much damage was being done, but it would be foolish to just stand there, so he quickly rifted out of sight, to return to his castle. He would have his revenge on these soldiers.

Once the smoke had cleared, the soldiers searched for the corpse they were certain would be there. Upon finding nothing but a splash or two of ichor, the three soldiers that had tried to communicate with Naraku held a council. The soldier who had spoken Japanese, a man of medium height and heavy, broad build with gray hair that was turning silver, appeared to have command, for he rapped out orders to the others, and the cavalrymen soon split into four identical groups and rode out in different directions, one group for each point of a compass, and some of the infantry manned the wagons. The bands struck up a tune, and the column marched north, leaving nothing but several dozen small, empty metal casings strewn about the ground.

Please read and review. Flames will be ignored.


	2. Lessons of All Sorts

Chapter 1

The light of dawn had just crept over the crests of the hills, a prelude to a beautiful day. A figure was sprinting across a field, at an astonishing turn of speed. This individual appears, at first glance, to be a human male clad in a crimson kimono and has a katana in its sheath resting at his waist. His silver hair was fluttering in the wind of his passing, and was catching the budding sunlight as he ran. His destination is an unpretentious village located on the outskirts of a large forest. He paused to scan the outlying lands with his amber eyes, and then continued on his way. He arrived at a modest house, and called out to its occupants.

"Kaede! You in there, old woman?" Inuyasha inquired.

"Aye, I be here, Inuyasha. Now what are ye wanting?" replied the aging priestess as she stepped out from the doorway.

"Has Kagome come back from her world yet?"

"Nay, she has not. But remember, Inuyasha, that she said she would return at the end of the fourth day, and it is only the dawn of the third. Perhaps I should teach ye to count?"

"Hey! I can count just fine! I just thought maybe she came back early or something. Where are the others?"

"Shippo is sleeping inside, Miroku is performing his duties-"

"Feh! More like indulging his lecherous appetites!" interrupted Inuyasha.

"Do ye take me for a fool, Inuyasha? Do not answer that. I have been watching Miroku, and he has behaved himself, for the most part. Now, if ye shall allow me to continue," this comment prompted a baleful glare from the hanyou, "Sango is plying her trade as demon slayer in the neighboring town. Now why do ye wish to find them? What has happened?" Inuyasha then began to explain himself.

"Well, I was out practicing with my tetsusaiga, when I met a merchant walking down the road. He told me that some local lord up north got both himself and his vassals killed by some demons. The merchant said that the details were scarce, but the villagers who lived in the area said they heard lots of thunder, and it was a clear day. He also said that when the villagers investigated, they found several rows of graves, one of which had the lord's personal arms and armor placed upon it."

"That is interesting and somewhat distressing news, Inuyasha, and what do ye proposed to do?"

"I think that we should check it out. Whatever killed those men might have a shard of the Shikon No Tama boosting its power. But since Kagome is the only one able to sense and purify the shards, I guess it will just have to wait until she gets around to coming back here."

"Ye are correct in both observations, Inuyasha. The killer might indeed have a shard, and ye cannot be going anywhere until Kagome returns. Ye can, however, prepare for her arrival. I suggest ye go and find Sango and tell her your story. I shall tell Miroku and Shippo. Go, Inuyasha."

"All right, all right. I'm going," muttered Inuyasha as he sped off towards the next village to retrieve Sango.

"Kagome! Wake up now," spoke a deep voice tainted with slight agitation.

"…ZZZZ-Huh?" Kagome jerked into an upright position, her face masked in fatigue and confusion. Then cognition dawned upon her: she was in school, and her history instructor, a tall, gaunt Scottish ex-soldier by the name of Robert MacDunwald, was staring directly at her, his keen brown eyes seemingly drilling into her core. The teacher, noting that she was awake now, switched from Japanese to heavily accented English in his next sentence, which was more or less understood because learning English was a requirement at Kagome's school. MacDunwald sometimes switched languages during class as an attempt to keep the students on their toes, and to keep their knowledge of English in top condition.

"Ach, yes. I am sae pleased tae have ya back with us, lassie. Now then, back tae the lesson." Switching back to Japanese, he continued. "In October of 1805, England's Royal Navy, under the command of Viscount Horatio Nelson, met with and defeated the combined Spanish and French navies at the battle of Trafalgar. Napoleon's fleets had escaped the blockade at Cadiz when a heavy storm scattered the blockading squadrons, and Nelson's squadron intercepted them off the cape of Trafalgar, hence the name. Though Nelson was mortally wounded midway through the battle, he lasted long enough to see his victory…"

MacDunwald's voice was already fast fading into background noise to Kagome, who was finding that concentration was far beyond her grasp that particular afternoon. As she gazed through the classroom's window, her mind drifted to her friends back beyond the Bone Eater's Well, and her quest to collect and purify the shards of the Shikon No Tama. From there her thoughts turned to Inuyasha. He was never happy when she went back to her world for extended periods of time, so Kagome figured that by now he must be driving everyone else out of their minds. She would be going back tonight, so that should calm him down somewhat…

"Kagome." MacDunwald's voice startled her, shifting her back to the present. _That is_, she thought, _if History class doesn't kill me first._ Blushing, Kagome collected her thoughts and shifted her gaze back to her teacher.

"Yes, sir?"

"Tell me, just why was Lord Nelson's victory over the French and Spanish so important to England and her war with Napoleon?"

"Um… because it raised morale among the English?" She hoped that no one could recognize the panic and doubt in her voice and on her face.

"Well, I'll grant you that a rise in morale did occur, but that was only one part of it. What made it so important was that with this victory the Royal Navy had undisputed and uncontestable command of the waves. Before Trafalgar, England was in dire threat of French invasion. Her armies had been defeated in Continental Europe, and her allies, such as Prussia and Austria, had been cowed into submission by _their _defeats at Austerlitz and the like. The large, professional French armies would crush the small British armies and volunteer militias who garrisoned the British Isles. But to invade, Bonaparte needed troop transports and escort ships, as well as naval superiority. With both his navy and that of his Spanish ally's destroyed, Bonaparte lacked the capacity to get his armies across the English Channel. This left England enough time to marshal her land forces for a blow against France." As he finished his sentence the bell signaling the end of school rang out. "I want you have at least a basic understanding of the remainder of the Napoleonic Wars for next week, as well as the War of 1812 between Great Britain and the fledgling United States… Miss Higurashi, please see me in ten minutes."

Images of imminent academic annihilation flashing before her mind's eye, she made her way to her locker to switch out books, and then back to the history classroom she had so recently vacated. Mr. MacDunwald was sitting behind his desk, and he beckoned that Kagome should take a seat in one of the chairs in front of him.

"Kagome, I asked to speak to you because I'm concerned about your studies. You just seem to drift off into your own world in class, and your grades have suffered for it. I _know_ you are smarter than this, lass. Now, I hope that you feel that you can talk to me. What's going on, lassie?"

"I...I can't really explain it at the moment, sir."

"All right, all right, I'm not going to pry. If you ever just need to talk to someone, you know where to find me."

"Thank you, sir. Oh, and Mr. MacDunwald?"

"Yes, Kagome?"

"Is there anything I can do to improve my grade?" The teacher looked at the papers on his cluttered desk for a moment or two, and then spoke.

"Well, let's see. Write a two to three page report on a history topic of your choice. Run the topic by me before you write it, though. Have it ready in a month. I'm not usually one for extra credit, but if you do a good job, then I'd say you've earned yourself an exception. Now don't forget to read the chapters in the textbook, now. I shall know if you did or didn't. Now go on home, else you'll worry your poor mother sick."

As Kagome walked to her home, she pondered about what she should write her report on, but her mind was wandering. She _was_ grateful to Mr. MacDunwald for letting her write the paper in the first place. He was among her favorite teachers, mainly because he was just plain _fun. _He truly enjoyed history, and his energetic zeal was infectious among his students. Just last week, he had shown up dressed in the green uniform and gear of a British 95th Rifles soldier, circa 1809; complete with a functional Baker rifle. After school ended he had allowed the class to watch him fire off a few rounds. Even Kagome, on the whole, took pleasure in attending his classes. Her inattentiveness in class of late was more of an indication of the extent to which her mission in the past was weighing on her mind than that the class was boring. Plus MacDunwald was definitely one very eccentric man. If history was his life, than military history was his very core of being. It didn't matter if the battle took place with swords or with tanks; MacDunwald could probably give you any vital statistic you could want to know, and if he _didn't_ know it, he knew where to look for it.

"Oh, well," she said to herself, "I'm going back to the feudal era tonight, so I can probably find a topic while I'm there. Now that _that's_ settled, I can enjoy the last meal I'll be having in the modern world for a while." As she walked along the sidewalk, Kagome admired the natural flare of color and beauty that autumn brought to the city. It was this exhibition that drew her concentration from other thoughts. _It doesn't change_, she thought, _whether it's in the feudal era or in the modern world, the beauty of fall stays constant. I wish Inuyasha was here to see this. Inuyasha…_She started, as she realized that she was daydreaming on Inuyasha again. _I seem to be doing that more often… I wonder if that means anything_, thought the young schoolgirl-turned-amateur priestess.

"Hello Mom," said Kagome upon entering her home and spotting her mother in the kitchen.

"Hello Kagome. How was school today?" inquired her Mother.

"Well, I suppose it went pretty well," came the reply, "When's dinner?"

"In an hour, dear. I believe there is someone here to see you, Kagome."

"Really? Who is it, Mom?"

"Why don't you go see yourself?"

"All right, all right, if you want to keep your secret, you can." Upon entering the living room, Kagome immediately spotted her visitor, who was currently playing with the family cat. Her little brother Souta was sitting nearby with an expression of awe and worshipfulness upon his shining face. "Inuyasha! What are you doing here? I mean, not that I'm upset or anything, but I said I'd be back tonight."

"Well, I got tired of waiting for you, and decided to come here to meet you halfway," Kagome started to feel the rush of blood to her cheeks, thoughts of_ "Does this mean he missed me?"_ sprinting through her head. "Besides, the food here was great last time I came." She still felt the heat in her face, but this time it was anger.

"That's all you have to say to me!" she exploded, ""Your food was great"? What, do you think that my house is your personal delicatessen?" Inuyasha was dumbstruck, with an expression of panic creeping slowly but surely overtaking the one of incomprehension that was currently upon his features. _Please don't say it, Kagome, please don't say it,_ thought Inuyasha, but his hopes were in vain.

"SIT, boy!"

After the dust settled, Kagome's mother poked her head out of the kitchen. "Kagome, dear, please tell your friend Inuyasha to be more careful. I wouldn't want him to hurt himself falling like that. Souta, I told you to pick up your things so that people wouldn't trip." With this, she withdrew back into the kitchen.

"What did I do now?" inquired a most pained Inuyasha from his prone position upon the floor.

"You just don't get it, do you? Oh, just get up. Dinner will be in an hour, Inuyasha. So, then, how are things going back in the feudal era?"

"There's…ugh… the other, ow, reason I came." What he was thinking was along the lines of, _How does she do that? I mean, how does she go from psycho girl from Hell back to innocent little schoolgirl in the blink of an eye? _He happened upon a small, seemingly unimportant, but irrefutable truth. _I'll never understand women._


	3. Of Brass and Blood

Chapter 2

Kagome heaved her oversized backpack over the sill of the bone eater's well from within, and the heavy rucksack, filled with goodies for her friends as well as her textbooks, fell to hit the earth of Feudal Era Japan. Next over the sill was Kagome herself, with some assistance supplied by a still somewhat dazed half dog-demon in a red kimono. As her head was coming up above the ledge, her eyes became level with a pair of keen blue eyes that shone with joy and excitement.

"Kagome! I'm so glad you're back!" Shippo's voice mirrored his eyes, and he let go of the well, dropping to land on his feet at the well's base.

"Hello, Shippo. It's good to see you too," spoke a smiling Kagome. She noted that Sango and Miroku were standing nearby, both smiling at their friend's return. Shippo continued to speak as she extricated herself from the well.

"It was really boring here without you, 'cause nothing interesting happens when you're gone, and Miroku was busy doin' monk stuff and Sango was gone, and Kaede was busy, and Inuyasha was moping about because you wer- OW! What did you do that for, Inuyasha?" Inuyasha had leapt up from the well during Shippo's speech, and was well prepared to smack Shippo down, an action he executed with his own style of anger, embarrassment, and denial.

"Because you don't seem to know when to shut up, pip-squeak." As the fox demon and the half demon squabbled in the background, Kagome walked up to Miroku and Sango.

"It is good to see you again, Kagome," said Sango.

"Indeed it is. You have been missed. Has Inuyasha told you of what happened in the North while you were away?" Miroku inquired.

Inuyasha had already told his tale to the others before he had left, and he had told Kagome whist still in the modern era, so the group started to make their way north, towards the village that would house any surviving witnesses, and anyone who could possibly answer the party's questions. Kaede would be staying in the village during this expedition, however.

They reached the village two days later. The villagers themselves could only repeat what they had told the merchant: that over a week ago, on a clear day, they had heard lots of what sounded like peals of thunder. They knew that the local lord was out riding with his vassals, and that maybe he was fighting something. He had ridden out from that very village that morning, and had stated his intention to return by nightfall. When dusk was falling, six wounded and exhausted men, whom the villagers recognized as some of the lord's vassals, stumbled in through the village gate. All that they would say was that a battle had taken place three miles to the east, and that they had run into some sort of demons who cut down their comrades with reckless abandon. Two of the survivors soon died from strange wounds that looked like very deep punctures, and the remaining four collapsed into fatigue-induced comas. Ever prudent, the villagers had no intention of finding out what had happened until they were sure it was safe. It was not until the next day that they worked up the courage to go searching for the field of battle. What they found astonished them. The entirety of the local lords retinue had been slaughtered. This in and of itself was not exceptional, especially not in a world where terrible demons lurked in the deep shadows of the world, but how the bodies were found. They had been buried, and with some care. This puzzled the villagers, who would not go near the graves for fear that they might incur the wrath of the spirits interred there.

Kagome tried talking to one of the four surviving witnesses, who had recently regained consciousness, but the experience had apparently driven him mad. All he would say was "Thunder and smoke, smoke and thunder," and, "Death is in the wind." They could not interview the remaining three men, unfortunately, because they were still unconscious. As they were walking towards the battlefield, they tried to make sense of the madman's words.

"Rather cryptic fellow, wasn't he?" Miroku asked.

"The poor man. Seeing your lord and your comrades exterminated like that, it really took a toll on him, didn't it," pondered Kagome.

"Don't worry," Inuyasha said, "It's probably just some demon who's overcome with the power of a jewel shard and thinks he's invincible. We'll just have to cut 'im down to size and take that shard from him. No problem."

"I am not so sure," said Sango, "I sense something strange about this, but I can't pinpoint just what. Lets just keep moving." Shippo was not privy to this discussion, but this was because he and Kirara had both fallen asleep inside Kagome's backpack, and the unconscious do not get to participate in conversation, or at least not usually.

The battleground appeared just as the villagers had described. From the addled accounts of the six survivors, the battle had taken place both on a large pasture off to one side of the road, and on the road itself. In the middle of the meadow there were four long rows of neat little mounds with spears and other pole arms stuck into the ground at one end to serve as headstones. There were approximately six hundred graves in all, one of which still bore a fine suit of armor and a pair of swords, a katana and a wakizashi. These blades were indeed of fine craftsmanship, and it puzzled Kagome why thieves and looters had not already dug up the graves and stripped the dead of all of their worldly possessions.

"The local thieves are afraid." Miroku said, answering Kagome's unasked question, "They fear that to open these graves is to set the demons that put the corpses there on their track, and the thieves that either don't believe in that or are brave enough to risk angering unknown demons eitherhaven't heard about it or just haven't got here yet."

"Strange," Inuyasha said, "I can't smell any demons here. I smell humans, and blood. Lots of blood. And something else...very faint. It's like…like a cross between smoke and brimstone, but different. Very faint though."

Kagome looked about the battleground. A glint of light on the ground caught her eye, and she knelt down upon the ground to examine what the light was reflecting off of. It proved to a metallic, hollow cylinder made of brass that was a little bit more than half an inch in diameter at one end, which was closed and had several concentric circular grooves in it, but towards the other end it was necked down to a little bit less than half an inch, which was open. As she looked closely at the ground, she spotted another one, then another, then another. Now that she knew what she was looking for, she saw that the ground was littered with these metal containers. She sniffed the open end, and a hypothesis formed in her mind. However, like any experiment, she needed to conduct a test, of sorts.

"Inuyasha?" Kagome called.

"Yeah?"

"Could you come here, please?"

"Sure. Why?" He sprinted his way over to Kagome.

"Smell this, would you?" She proffered the brass cylinder. He looked at her warily for a moment, but when she glared at him, he took the cylinder and sniffed the open end as well.

"Ugh! That's that brimstone and smoke smell again, only much stronger. What is that thing, Kagome?"

"I have an idea on what this is, but I'm not totally sure. I am sure, however, that I know someone who does. Unfortunately, Inuyasha, it means I need to go back to my era for a day."

"AGAIN!" came his displeased cry, "You just got back!"

"And now I need to go back. We need to know what we're up against. Even _you_ can't argue against that." Inuyasha was still glaring his displeasure at her, but grudgingly nodded.

"Fine. But you'd better not waste time there! The sooner you get back, the sooner we can kill these things, whatever they are, and get the Jewel Shards back." He stood there a moment; his arms stillcrossed over his chest in defiance, and then motioned for Kagome to get on his back. "The faster you get back to your time, the faster you can get back," he explained. Kagome paused to take Shippo and Kirara out of her pack, then climbed up onto to the half demon's back. Once she was secure, he started leaping south. "You guys wait here for a day and try and find anything you can from those survivors! After that, head back to the well. We'll meet you there." Kagome could not hear their replies, between the wind of their rapid movement in her ears and the rapidly growing distance between the pair and the rest of the group. Inuyasha's keen dog-ears, however caught the affirmative reply, and he increased his speed.

As she rode on Inuyasha's back, she thought of the metal object, which she had placed in her pack. She was sure that she recognized that smell. She had smelt it once before, during Professor MacDunwald's class, the class where he fired off a Baker rifle after class, to be precise. The scent that Inuyasha could not identify smelled a lot like black powder, which she knew was the propellant of all early firearms. She was proud of herself for remembering that little snippet of information from history class. She was certain MacDunwald could offer some answers concerning what she believed to be a spent cartridge casing. After a day's worth of constant running, leaping, and sprinting, Inuyasha came to a halt at the bone eater's well. Kagome got off of his back, and made towards the well. She turned, and spoke to him.

"Thank you, Inuyasha, for carrying me here."

"Um, yeah. Was nothing, really. Just get to your era and back as soon as possible, okay?"

"You got it. See you soon!" With that, Kagome jumped into the well.

The next day, after class was finished, she went to Professor MacDunwald's office, and gave him the cylinder. He examined closely for a while, then spoke.

"Well, Kagome, that's an interesting find you have there," MacDunwald said, examining the shell. "You are correct in your deduction that this is the spent remains of a self-contained gun cartridge. You are even correct in your believe that it had been filled with black powder. I suppose you want to know the actual details, don't you?"

"Why, yes, sir."

"Very well. This is the brass shell for a Sir Henry Boxer point five seven seven dash point four five caliber cartridge, or in other words, a shell that is fifty-seven point seven percent of an inch in diameter at the base, and necked down to forty-five percent of an inch in diameter at the top. The only gun in the world that was chambered for this round was the British Martini-Henry, which was a single-shot drop-block rifle. Very reliable, served the British army for thirty years, from the late eighteen-sixties to the mid eighteen-nineties. Where did you say you picked this up?"

"A, uh, friend gave it to me. I told him that I knew someone who could identify it for him. Obviously, I was right. Thank you sir, and I'm already working on a topic for my paper," she called out as she made her way out of MacDunwald's office.

"A most charming lass," MacDunwald said to himself, shaking his head, "but most certainly daft out of her little skull. Of course, so am I, after a fashion. Now then, I'd better get back to being a productive member of society, and all that rot, before they start yelling at me. Ha ha." With that, the teacher went back to work in his office.

As she made her way back home, Kagome wracked her brain trying to figure things out. Shehad answered one question, but it had in turn raised a host of more questions. At the front of this horde of questions was a rather simple one, which would promise a most complex answer: _"What in the world are nineteenth-century British riflemen doing in Feudal Era Japan?"_


	4. Scots, Irish, and Welsh, Oh My!

Chapter 3

The rain, cold and implacable, tumbled its way down to the earth, where the foliage of a lightly wooded forest waited eagerly to extract the water from the topsoil. The night sky was lit every now and again with the flash of lightning, and the monotonous rattle of raindrops was periodically interrupted with the rumble of thunder. The rain also fell on a massive congregation of canvas tents sporadically arrayed about the forest's glens and rushes, and a series of covered wagons drawn up into a square were to be seen nearby. Twelve tarp-covered cylinders sat on their carriages in a group, with several more box-like wagons rested nearby. An astute observer would have noted the that placement of the tents was designed to make advantage of natural high ground to keep the occupants as dry as possible. The sounds of slumber were to be heard emanating from most of these tents. Not all occupants of this campsite were comfortably dry and asleep beneath canvas covers, however. Several drenched overcoat-clad sentries moved about the camp, their rifles slung on waterlogged shoulders. More were to be found walking about the perimeter of the camp. In one of the larger tents, a makeshift headquarters had been set up, and it swarmed with kilt-clad soldiers. Some were poring over what appeared to be topographical maps, and more were going over paperwork of some sort. In the center of this nucleus of activity, one soldier was sitting behind a collapsible table that served as a desk. He was broad of shoulder, heavy of build, had gray hair turning to silver, was clean-shaven, and his bushy eyebrows were knitted together upon his weathered brow in animosity and concentration. His white helmet with its red plume rested upon the table, next to a stack of papers, and there were epaulets upon his shoulders, each bearing twin stars and a crown.

Colonel Sir Angus MacGilivray; V.C., commanding officer of Her Royal Britannic Majesty's Forty-Second Royal Highlanders (The Black Watch), and commanding officer of the column as a whole, was quite upset, if one is to understand that this particular value of the term "upset" means "As close to being a physical manifestation of Hell's fury as is possible for a mortal man," that is. He had managed to, up to this moment, kept his rancor in check, but his willpower was steadily eroding. Losing one's temper in public was not becoming of an officer and gentleman, but there were limits to even _his_ patience. Of course, from his point of view, his rage was well justified. Here he was, responsible for the lives of nearly three thousand men, not including the families that had tagged along, and he had no clue whatsoever as to his present location, nor did he know how they had been brought there or who the mysterious "Naraku" was. That Naraku was evil, and had naught but destruction planned for him and his column, MacGilivray held no doubt. The massacred militiamen and the evil darkness in Naraku's eyes proved that beyond all uncertainty. He was also certain that Naraku was alive. He would not count that, _that monstrosity_ finished until he himself placed the topsoil over Naraku's cold, lifeless corpse in its grave.

To add to his frustrations, some local warlord and his band of minions had come across his infantry column during their march north, and because the cavalry was away trying to figure out just where the Hell they were, he had no way to avoid them. Of course, he had tried to explain himself and his men in his coarse Japanese, but the Japanese lord had taken one look at the massed ranks of the Black Watch and the Gordons, and then cried out, "Demons! Demons!" and had urged his men to attack. The Japanese vassals had charged highlanders armed with Martini-Henry rifles, and were slaughtered. The armor they wore was woefully inadequate against four hundred and eighty grains of lead propelled by eighty-five grains of black powder, and after two volleys of rifle fire, the survivors, who numbered somewhere between four and seven, fled to the west, routed without even coming close enough to cause a single casualty. Unwilling to just leave their corpses to the birds of the air and the beasts of the field, he had ordered his men to bury the dead, and do what they could for the wounded before marching on. Upon inspection of the bodies left on the field, there proved to be no living wounded, just the slain. The dead were then buried with honor, and the infantry had then continued on its northern march. He knew full well that the graves would be dug up and the dead stripped, but that did not matter to him. That had happend a week ago, and it surprised Angus that the memory still troubled him. His conscience had not bothered him much during Crimea and the Mutiny, nor did it cause him to lose sleep during the three years of campaign in Egypt, and those actions had involved some dire peril and chancy luck on the Black Watch's part. No, the grisly memories of Tel-El-Kebir, Cawnpore, El Teb, and many other bloody battles did not cause him one whit of moral trouble, which made his unease with the slaughtering of what he was certain were Japanese footmen all the more disturbing. He supposed that it was the combined facts that the bloodshed was a result of miscommunication, and that the Japanese were hopelessly outgunned and outnumbered that gnawed at his conscience. The Fuzzy Wuzzies, the rebelling sepoys, and the Russians, they all had a chance. These poor devils never had one, and they never knew it until it was far too late.

The sounds of horses and men were heard above the rain's patter on the canvas tent, drawing the colonel out of the world of his thoughts. MacGilivray looked up from his desk, and peered out into the discouraging, rainy night. The dragoons had returned, and what the Irishmen had to tell him might do something to lighten his mood. Soon afterwards, a middle-aged man in a heavy cloak and wearing the flared riding breeches, curved saber, and tall boots of the cavalry strode into the tent. He was slightly taller than Colonel MacGilivray, but of slighter build. He had dark hair, and had a short, bushy mustache. He removed his cloak, revealing his pistol holster and the crown upon each of his epaulets, and took off his helmet and tucked it under his arm. Major Thomas Clancy, commanding officer of the Second Battalion, Her Royal Britannic Majesty's Sixth Dragoons (The Inniskillings), was now standing before the colonel's ramshackle desk, his right arm held in a rigid salute. He could sense the wrath within the man behind the desk, and while he himself was not currently receiving the brunt of MacGilivray's seething rage, his intuition told him that this could change very, very quickly indeed. Upon receiving a return salute from the colonel, Clancy brought his right arm down, and stood at attention.

"At ease, Major. Please tell me you have good news for a weary old soldier, Thomas?" As aggravated as the colonel had to be at this moment, Major Clancy could detect no malice in the voice, only a sense of distant, cold formality. Even so, Clancy hesitated a moment before continuing, and his Wexford brogue had a slight tinge of nervousness.

"We searched the land within eighteen miles of the field we appeared in, Colonel, and while none of our maps immediately showed our position, we did discover something strange. Captain Hogan found that while none of the man-made landmarks, such as towns and cities, are where the maps say they should be, the major geographical landmarks, such as the river, major forests, hills, and the mountains are located almost _precisely _where they are displayed on the maps."

"Are ya saying, Major, that in reality we haven't moved, but that someone just _walked off with several towns?"_ The colonel had an eyebrow arched in disbelief.

"I'm not thinking that someone stole them, Colonel, as much as I'm thinking that they just aren't there anymore," he paused here, as if trying to forge gaseous thoughts into solid words, and then continued, "Or they haven't been built yet, sir, like some one picked us up, and hurled us into the past. The geography stayed similar, but the towns disappeared because they haven't been built yet."

"Oh, it's time travel now, is it Major?" The colonel's voice was almost manically cheerful now, and Clancy correctly identified this as a bad sign. "Been reading tae much Jules Vern, have we? Now then, Major, do you have any other ideas," here MacGilivray's voice went harsh, deep, and menacing, and his eyes grew cold and hard, _"or are we just tae hop intae our magic submarine and sail through the ages tae our proper era? Is that it, Major? IS IT?_" Here the colonel paused, having realized the nature of his words, and after clearing his throat, spoke again. "Er...please continue, Major." It was as if the furies within the colonel had made a final assault upon the ramparts of his patience and broken through, but immediately afterwards his features returned to their previous state, one of agitation and anger held tightly in check.

"Begging the Colonel's pardon, sir, but I think it a strong possibility that we have been transported to the past, and that the figure clad in white fur had a great deal to do with it. All of the evidence points to it, Colonel, including your own testimony as to what this Naraku said." Colonel MacGilivray leaned back in his seat, deep in thought for a moment or two, then his features softened some and he spoke.

"As much as I don't like it, Clancy, you're right. There is nae other available explanation that even approaches believable, let alone viable. You are dismissed. Have Colonel MacLean, Majors Dalton, McDonough, McKenna, Brown, Llewellyn, and yourself report tae me in ten minutes, Major."

"Yes, sir." With this, the major saluted, turned and exited the HQ. MacGilivray regretted his outburst of rancor at the cavalryman, especially since the good major had just as much incentive as anyone to get the column back to where it belonged. Including a seven-year-old fair-haired source of incentive named "Matilda," who called Major Clancy "daddy." The more he thought on it, the more he realized the similarities between himself and Clancy. They had both married, both lost their wives to disease, and each was a soldier trying to survive long enough to raise his only child. His thoughts drifted to his son Todd, who was serving as a lieutenant in B Company, Second Battalion, Ninety-Second Highlanders.

Part of his anger, he knew, was derived from the fact that his son, his only heir and living relative, had been sucked into this hell with him. The Army made it a policy to separate family members, but since the column was not supposed to see combat, they saw no problems if a column contained both a father and his son. Now to him it looked like a disaster waiting to happen. He knew, all the same, that he should not have lashed out at poor Clancy, especially since he needed cooperation if this column was going to survive, and lashing out at others without provocation was not the way to do it. Still, the major hadn't appeared chagrined by his outburst, so perhaps Clancy understood his frustrations. He pulled out an ivory pipe; a memento from a youth spent fighting rebellious sepoys during the Indian Mutiny, and went about filling and lighting it. Five minutes later, a gaunt man with graying brown hair dressed in the coat, kilt, broadsword and revolver of the highland infantry officer stepped through the tent's entrance. His epaulets each bore a crown and a single star, and he sported the eyes of a man who was having sleepless nights. He saluted the colonel and MacGilivray returned it.

"Good evening, Colonel," said Lieutenant Colonel Alistair MacLean, commanding officer of Her Royal Britannic Majesty's Ninety-Second Highlanders (The Gordons).

"Good evening, Lieutenant Colonel. How is your family faring?"

"As well as can be expected. I told Katie tae keep the girls in the wagon, and that they would keep dry that way. Of course, Robina and Jean were not tae keen tae sleep in a wagon with the military chests and such, but they were not going tae sleep out in the rain either, sae they made due." MacGilivray offered MacLean a seat, and the two officers began to speak of times long gone.

Three minutes later, a troop of six majors slogged their way through the entrance of the HQ tent. Two men were instantly discernable from their companions. One was Major Clancy in his cavalry uniform with its riding breeches, and the other was a man of medium height and build, who wore the blue uniform coat and pants of the Royal Horse Artillery, with a pattern eighteen-twenty-two light cavalry saber and a holstered Adams revolver by his side. Major Frederick Llewellyn was his name, and he was in charge of the twelve Armstrong cannon and their crews. The other four were clad in kilts, with holstered revolvers and the broad, straight basket-hilted broadswords of the Highland Line Officer sheathed at their sides. Major Dalton, an aged man with sad eyes, and Major McDonough, a young but competent man, were the two battalion commanders of the colonel's own regiment. Major McKenna, a seemingly ordinary man with extraordinary tactical abilities, and Major Brown, an indefatigable Clydeside native with a barrel chest and arms like hydraulic presses, were MacLean's two able battalion commanders. All six saluted MacGilivray and MacLean, who had risen from their seats, and the pair returned the salute, and put the officers at ease. MacGilivray looked them over for a moment, then spoke in a grim fashion.

"Gentlemen, we have a very serious matter before us. We all ken that something has gone wrong, and that we are no longer where or, as may be the case, _when_ we are supposed tae be. It has been suggested by Major Clancy that we are, in actuality, exactly _where_ we were twa weeks ago, but not _when._ He believes that the creature we saw when we appeared in that field was responsible for our displacement. What the fiend said, or at least as much of what he said as I could translate, supports this theory. That's all I know on this matter, gentlemen. As far as orders go, keep drillin' your men. The last thing we need is a lapse of discipline. You are also to brief your company commanders as to the content of this meeting, and tell them to brief their section leaders. We will be bivouacking here for at least one more day to give the weather some time to clear up. I will issue more orders then. Any questions?" Major Brown spoke up first, his thick Clydeside accent evident in his speech.

"D'ya think that Naraku bastard is still alive, Colonel sir? I mean, all we found was a splash or twa of some black, oily liquid, and nae body. If'n I had a nice bloody, bullet-riddled corpse a'fore me, I'd feel much better, sir."

"I'm sure you would, Casey, and so would us all. But to answer your question, Major Brown, aye. Aye, I believe that de'il still draws breath somewhere, but I feel that he'll think twice before tangling with us again. Unfortunately for him, however, we are going to go looking for him. At the moment he's our only doorway back to the year eighteen eighty-six. Any other questions?… None? Then you are all dismissed to brief your subordinates." The six majors saluted, and ventured out into the Stygian night, slogging their independent ways to inform their company commanders. Soon afterward MacLean bade the colonel good night, saluted, and went to check on his family. They were, reflected MacGilivray, some of the best officers in the Queen's service today, and he was glad that he had them here, with him in this terrible time of uncertainty.

Something soft and beautiful caught the colonel's attention. The mellow notes of a flute made their torturous way through the drowning effect of the rain to reach the colonel's ear. _That would be young Captain McFarland, _he thought. The flute was soon accompanied by the sweet, fiery strains of a fiddle, and the two instruments played a beautiful duet that rang out with surprising clarity._ And that would be the even younger Lieutenant Scott, ready as ever to prompt his commander to a quicker pace of action. _He knew the two officers well; probably better than he knew any other men in his regiment, aside from Dalton, McDonough, and Grant, the Regimental Sergeant Major. And well he should, considering that, for two years, he had been one of their senior instructors at the prestigious Edinburgh Military Academy, before he had left teaching to return to the role of the line officer.

The rain, Colonel MacGilivray noted, had lessened, with a promise of ceasing altogether, but MacGilivray had been an infantryman too long to put much store into such meteorological promises. He would wait one day to give the road time to dry out somewhat, then the column would strike the tents and begin to march south. If Major Clancy was correct, then there was a village approximately one hundred and twenty-eight miles to the south, or _had_ been- whether it existed in their current era was a different story, whose topography made it very defensible, with several areas of high elevation and a large forest nearby to facilitate the building of a fort. _God help us all, _thought MacGilivray,_ if the good major is wrong, however._

* * *

Note: If anyone is wondering about the creative spelling, it is my own attempt to write an accent into print. Some accents are thicker than others, hence the descrepencies. Bear wit me on dis, alrigh'? 'Cause I'd hate ta have Louie here break yer legs like toothpicks. Dat sort a' ting makes paperwoik, and we's _hates_ paperwoik. Say hi to da audience, Louie. **HI TO DA ODD-E-ENCE, LOOIE...**


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